Chapter 26 Donovan
DONOVAN
Two days before Christmas, I find myself googling “what to expect when pregnant” at two in the morning.
I stare at the search results for exactly thirty seconds before closing the browser.
This isn’t me. I don’t panic-research on the internet like some anxious teenager. I hire experts. I delegate. I handle problems through systematic analysis and strategic planning.
But Samantha is pregnant, and I have no idea what that actually means beyond the obvious biological facts.
I lean back in my chair and rub my face.
The truth is, I’m terrified. Not of the baby. Not of becoming a father. But of this feeling in my chest that won’t go away.
I’m in love with her.
The realization still catches me off guard, even though it’s been weeks since that night I held her while she slept. Since I asked Kai to explain what love feels like, and he told me I was already experiencing it.
He was right.
I’m completely, irrevocably in love with Samantha Allen. And I have no idea what to do with that information.
I’ve spent thirty years avoiding this exact situation. Kept relationships transactional. Never let anyone close enough to matter. Built walls so high that emotional attachment seemed impossible.
And then she showed up and dismantled everything without even trying.
Now she’s pregnant with a baby that might be mine, and all I want is to protect her from whatever’s making her look so guilty all the time.
Because she does look guilty. Constantly. Like she’s carrying a weight that’s crushing her from the inside.
I see it when she thinks no one’s watching. The way her smile drops. The way her hand drifts to her stomach and her expression turns pained. The way she stares into space like she’s trying to solve an impossible equation.
Something’s wrong. I just don’t know what.
I shut my laptop and head to bed, but sleep doesn’t come easily.
On Christmas Eve morning, the estate is a replica of something out of a holiday catalog.
Staff have been decorating for days, but today they finish the final touches. Garlands on every surface. Lights strung through the private wing. A smaller Christmas tree in our sitting room, decorated with ornaments that have been in the family for generations.
I find Samantha in the kitchen helping Mrs. Borris with cookies. She’s wearing an oversized sweater and leggings, hair pulled back, flour on her cheek.
She looks happy for the first time since she told us about the pregnancy.
“You’re baking?” I ask from the doorway.
She looks up and smiles. “Badly. But yes.”
“They look fine to me.”
“You haven’t tasted them yet.” She slides a tray into the oven. “Mrs. Borris is being very patient with my complete lack of skill.”
“You’re doing wonderfully,” Mrs. Borris says, patting her shoulder. “Natural baker’s intuition.”
I watch them work together, and something warm settles in my chest. This is what I want. This domesticity. This ease. She’s in my home, in my life, making cookies and laughing with our staff as if she belongs here.
“Donovan.” Samantha’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?”
“I don’t bake.”
“You do now.” She holds out a cookie cutter shaped like a star. “Come on. It’s Christmas Eve.”
I find myself crossing the room and taking the cutter. She guides my hand to the rolled dough, showing me how to press down firmly and twist slightly to release the shape.
Her hand is warm over mine. She smells like vanilla and sugar.
I want to kiss her. Want to pull her close and tell her I love her and ask what’s making her so sad underneath the forced cheerfulness.
Instead, I cut out star-shaped cookies while she hums along to the Christmas music playing from the kitchen radio.
Christmas morning arrives with fresh snow and clear skies.
I wake up in Dad’s bed with Samantha curled against me and Kai sprawled across the foot of the bed. Dad’s already up, probably dealing with business even on Christmas.
Samantha stirs and opens her eyes. “Morning.”
“Morning.” I brush hair back from her face. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. No nausea yet.” She stretches carefully. “What time is it?”
“Eight. We should probably get up before Kai smothers us.”
She laughs softly and slides out of bed. I watch her go, noting the slight changes in her body that weren’t there weeks ago. Nothing obvious yet, but I notice.
We gather in the sitting room an hour later. The fire is already going, and Dad has coffee waiting. Kai appears with bedhead and an enthusiastic energy that shouldn’t be legal before nine AM.
“Presents!” He drops onto the floor beside the tree. “Can we do presents now?”
“You’re twenty-five,” Dad says. “Not five.”
“And yet the question stands.”
Samantha laughs, and the sound makes my chest ache. She’s relaxed this morning. Present in a way she hasn’t been lately. Like she’s letting herself enjoy this instead of drowning in whatever guilt has been eating at her.
We exchange gifts. Kai got everyone something ridiculous. I got everyone something practical. Dad got everyone something thoughtful.
Samantha opens the gift from all three of us, a jewelry box with a necklace inside. Simple. Elegant. Three intertwined circles in white gold.
“It’s beautiful,” she says quietly, fingers tracing the circles.
“One for each of us,” Kai explains. “So you’re always carrying us with you.”
She tears up, and Dad helps her put it on. She touches it constantly throughout the morning, like she’s grounding herself with the weight of it.
We spend the day doing nothing important. Watch old movies. Eat too much food. Play cards by the fire. Kai tells embarrassing stories about Dad and me. Samantha laughs until she cries. It’s perfect.
This is what I want for the rest of my life. These people. This warmth. This sense of belonging that I’ve never felt anywhere else.
But throughout the day, I notice Dad disappearing. Taking calls in his office. Checking his phone more than usual. There’s tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there yesterday.
During dinner, he barely eats. Just pushes food around his plate and responds to conversation on autopilot.
After we finish, I catch him before he can escape to his office again. “What’s wrong?” I ask quietly.
“Nothing’s wrong.” He’s already moving past me. “Just handling some business.”
“On Christmas Day?”
“Business doesn’t stop for holidays.”
“Dad.” I follow him into the hallway. “I know you. Something’s bothering you.”
He stops and turns to face me. For a moment, I think he’s going to tell me. Then his expression closes off. “I’m fine, Donovan. Focus on Samantha and the baby. That’s what matters.”
“Then why can’t you focus on it?”
“I am focused on it.” But he won’t meet my eyes. “I’m just handling a few things that need handling. Nothing for you to worry about.”
He walks away before I can push further, and I stand in the hallway watching him go, frustration building under my skin.
Something’s wrong with both him and Samantha. She’s hiding something that makes her cry when she thinks no one’s watching. He’s investigating something that has him distracted even on Christmas.
And I’m stuck in the middle.